Most fluffies love car rides, and Sundae and Dapple are no exception to the rule. Of course, poor Sundae had been anxious at first, thinking she was going to be dumped off to some new and terrible home, or left for an afternoon with a new ‘special friend’ every time you had loaded her into the carrier. These days, she knows she can trust you not to do that, and she loves slow rides best of all, where she can be free of the carrier and sit in the shotgun seat with her little hoofpads on the bottom of the window, or in your lap, or just lie across the back seat and wiggle her stubby legs in the air.
Right now, she and Dapple are both on the passenger side, Dapple pointing out features of fluffy interest to her new friend, such as the ‘bestest nummy bush’ and ‘not-scawwy wawa pwace.’ Asking Dapple about that, it turns out that there’s a kind of glorified puddle that is landscaped and maintained for the fluffies in hot weather, too shallow for anyone but a foal to drown without suicidal effort. As a small-time rescue and foster home that ends up with more foals than not, you’re not even allowed to have that, and had to put chicken wire around the little divot in your yard that collects rainwater before you could get your license. For the outside time in the heat of summer your charges have to content themselves with a sprinkler, even though fluffies always prefer to wade.
You stop at the gatehouse again, the way you’re going to have to do every time, coming or going, by car or on foot, for security. You pull up to the window, expecting the same still, silent hulk of a man from before, but instead Dapple excuses herself to walk across your lap to poke head out the car window.
“Hewwo, Connow!”
His scarred, battered face softens completely into a warm, beatific smile. “Aw, hey, Dapple!” he coos, his whiskey and broken rocks rumble higher and sweeter than you would have it was physically possible for it to get. If not for all the, uh, identifying marks, he would look like a different person right now. “How’s my pretty girl today?”
Dapple giggles. “Am gud. Connow no huwties?”
He clears his throat, looking like he has suddenly remembered that you’re there. “Nah, Dapple,” he says, still soft and sweet, but closer to normal. “No hurties today. Got some chronic pain,” he adds, to you. “All this shit pulls.” He gestures to his scars, and you nod. You don’t have a lot of scarring, but you know people who do, and know that it’s no joke. To say nothing of whatever did it in the first place. You hope it was one of the least loaded possible options, like a car wreck where everyone lived. “And Dapple, because she’s a good fluffy, always wants to make sure I’m all right.”
“An’ because Connow am fwen,” Dapple adds, wagging her tail. It’s fucking adorable.
“It all right with you if I give these gals a treat?” he asks. And sure, Sundae is a stubby little earthie and that makes her inclined to be overweight, but she has been very brave and good today, and she’s more active than a lot of fluffies.
You nod. “I don’t think it’ll bust her diet.”
“Sketti or sweet flavor?” Connor asks.
“Sketti, pwease!” Dapple chirps, while Sundae says, “Sweet, pwease, nice mistuh,” much more quietly. Connor reaches out with a massive, scarred paw, and hands the two fluffies in your lap each a different-colored little oval pellet, red for Dapple, blue for Sundae. They both thank him nicely, and once his arm is safely back in the booth, you wish him a good evening and keep going to #4.
It’s not much further to your destination, a nice little cabin beside the fenced-off creek, because you rated Sundae as low-hazard. She’s smart for a fluffy, and more importantly, cautious. She’s not the type to run off into the dangerous world beyond, and she understands how and why wawa am bad for fwuffies.
Dapple is happy to see the cabin, declaring it one of her favorites, and her ease with the place helps Sundae to settle right in. It’s kind of a homey environment for you, with the wood walls and everything. Sure, there’s electricity and running water, not like your crazy parents and their fantasy of living free in the Alaskan bush, but there’s a dim, warm, overstuffed closeness to the place that gives you nostalgia. While you catch up on a few things on your laptop (may Cthulhu bless Sunshine Feels, they use wireless extenders to get signal to all the cabins) Dapple shows Sundae all the fluffy-level amenities, including an enclosed litterbox, to keep the small space from reeking to high hell.
Time has kind of slipped away from you, and pretty soon you need to close the computer and get to bed if you want to be able to join everyone for breakfast at half-past nine and to have your first scheduled meeting with the therapy stallions. You’re going to tell the fluffies that it’s time for bed, only to find them already cuddled up together in their little nest, just absolutely cute as shit. You take a quick picture and brush your teeth before crawling into bed, so glad that Dapple is here. Sundae never sleeps this easily in a new place, and your last waking thought is to hope that she doesn’t have any nightmares.